Author's note: I wrote this for the Steelsings RPG, so the characters will seem unfamiliar to you, but this is a chronicle of Tortall, so there are some redeeming qualities. The main theme is a dark look at Tortall's future.
Furthermore: This story was written about a year and a half ago, and it is already finishedso when you ask for me to write more, I simply need to post the next part.
I'm posting it in installments to weigh the reactions and reviewsand things definitely get a better response if posted in installments, as you all probably know. Also, if there's a part you don't understand (something that I've assumed you should know, and was mistaken) please tell me so I can clarify my writing. One more thing, the Character Falcon's accent is a little screwyat one point he's understandable, and at another he isn't. I didn't realize this until a year and a half later. I think it stabilized in the last few chapters, but I apologize for thisneed to edit itbut that's far down on my list of writing tasks.
Disclaimer: Tortall, Alanna, George, and the family Conte belong to Tamora Pierce. Names of Places most likely belong to Tamora Pierce. Nael, Em, and Marc are characters of my own creation. Rin belongs to Roz, Fal to Ingrid, and Keiran to Mads, Ott and Yoric to Fio, Nar to Katy errr. Goldie to Goldie and I think that's it.
~Six~
She took one step and she was surrounded by vast green hills, as far as her eye could see. There was no natural sound. No birds, no streams, only saintly music, filling her ears, enveloping her senses. She turned to look behind her. She was standing on a precipice overlooking a boundless city, stretching into the distance, with towering spires, extending into the clouds, gently brushing the Realms of the Gods, gently reminding the Gods of human presence.
And she knew there was someone behind her, but the presence was comforting. She didn't turn around, not yet. But as she stepped back and squinted to see the landscape better, her vision began to grow dim, and the music became louder. As the panorama dissolved around her, she turned to see his eyes, desperate as she disappeared. She cried out, above the music, echoing through the empty hills and the city at her feet.
Only the music remained. She had fallen asleep again. She had dreamed again.
The drawing paper in front of her lay untouched. She could not conjure up the vision of a bright summer day, or the Corus marketplace teeming with people from all lands. The dreams took those memories from her mind and brought them to life, but only to wave them in front of her nose. The unattainable goal. And after each dream of the past, a piece of her soul was torn from her.
She swept a hand over her shoulder, as if to straighten her hair, only to remember that what remained of golden-blond hair hung within a few inches of her skull. What a pity. Although there was no need for lengthy hair in the City of the Gods, she missed it. Few mirrors existed in the city. They were simply obsolete. Her hair was a part of who she was. He liked her hair.
But Emily was not who she used to be. She used to be Queen, wife, mother, and friend. She was none of these things. At the city she was student, or child. She was humble servant to the Gods. But who was she inside?
She was hiding--that much was for certain. Before the fall of the kingdom, Emily was considered to be a powerful player in Tortallan politics--even if only from behind the scenes. If the Carthaki army was to succeed in taking over Tortall completely, they had to take the Rogue as well. But why was she hiding? Why wasn't she out fighting for her cause, risking her life to save her kingdom and her people? Why wasn't her voice heard above all others as the rebels charged to meet the forces of the Carthaki army head on, with lightening fast reflexes and courage and bravery. In other words, why wasn't she dead?
Because the Goddess's servants had rescued her, and hid her, when she lay dying on the road. They had healed her, and protected her, and given her the gift of sight when all she could conjure was darkness. And the nights where she thrashed violently, she was calmed by a soothing, cool hand upon her brow, and a voice from the Realms.
Eventually she had quieted the dreams, the memories given animation by her unconscious mind, yearning for distraction from the dull tasks of everyday life in the city. She had managed to create a dormant state of mind, where thoughts ceased, and a dismal plain engulfed her. This state had been present in her dreams for years, up until this morning.
Emily rose from her bench, leaving her drawing paper still untouched. She hurried to the temple, the source of the music.